


Your Soul Belongs To Me

by currybuzz, outoftheashes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Constantine (2005), Alternate Universe - Fusion, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Come Shot, Come play, Dom Sam Winchester, Emotional Manipulation, Hellhounds, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Romanticized non-con, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-06 07:30:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1849606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/currybuzz/pseuds/currybuzz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/outoftheashes/pseuds/outoftheashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean dies.  Intrigued by the famous Winchester name, the King of Hell makes him his pet. Sam loves breaking Dean, and won't ever let him escape. </p><p>Warnings: Mentions of blood and violence, romanticized non-con and underage sex (Dean is 16), upcoming Stockholm Syndrome, manipulative!Sam... More emphasis on emotional manipulation/abuse than physical violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A collab written with this lovely lady: http://queencurry.tumblr.com/ And you can find me at: http://samanddeaninpanties.tumblr.com/
> 
> Constantine's plot will be a summary of events more than anything (and not even in this chapter or likely the next), but one scene in particular WILL be written later on.
> 
> Feedback is appreciated.

He was a whisper.

Demons, halflings, and tortured human souls knew and saw him as Lucifer. He was the King of Hell; people of the living world titled him the Devil for it.

Some demons were old enough to know the truth. They whispered hails to the Boy King as he passed them, but their mouths snapped shut at their king’s look of contempt. The ones who knew him as the Boy King also knew that the real devil, that Lucifer, was trapped inside the cage. They yearned for his release. They yearned for their real God.

The people outside hell had long forgotten Sam’s story.

* * *

Dean Winchester could see angels and demons. Some might call such a thing a gift, but he swore it was a nightmare, a curse. 

He was tired, tired of being viewed as insane by his father, tired of seeing doctor after doctor, tired of being given bucket loads of medication that didn’t do shit to stop the visions. 

He could feel it down to his soul. His time was up. He wanted, no, he  _needed_ to get off this ride, dammit. 

"Sorry Dad, sorry God," he rasped bitterly as he scrawled a suicide note.  _Sorry I wasn’t a good son, I’m sorry I can’t handle this anymore, I’m sorry I’m leaving you alone. I love you._ He’d never been much of a talker. That was all he had to give and it wasn’t nearly enough. 

Alone at home it felt like a good opportunity to take advantage of the situation. His dad was out buying pizza, there wasn’t much time. He’d been hiding extra pills for awhile now. His father had started trusting him again, didn’t look at him with as much intensity when he breathed the wrong way anymore. It was easy, pathetically so, to collect the pills needed over the span of a few weeks to get the job done. 

A nice little overdose. Not exactly original, but he didn’t have many choices these days. He figured at least this way his father would be able to identify his body. 

He took them all, handfulls of different sleep aids, depressants, pain meds…all with water and waited. 

He didn’t have to wait long. 

He hadn’t expected the pain, but it was no less than he deserved. Everything ached, especially his stomach. His head felt heavy, vision fuzzy. 

Dean stumbled and fell onto the carpet of his room. Not long now. Barely breathing, he managed to smile. Yes. This is what he wanted. 

Then he heard footsteps and his door creaked open. Dean would feel mortified if he wasn’t so far gone. “Dean,  _son,_ what did you  _do?”_ His father knelt down beside him, grasped his face hard. “It’s gonna be okay, kiddo. I’ve got you now, we’re gonna…we’re gonna fix this,” his dad promised, petting Dean’s hair. 

Dean’s lips trembled, he tried to speak, but words refused to form on his lips. 

His father was screaming into their telephone when it happened. The darkness swallowed him whole and Dean welcomed it with open arms. 

* * *

“Azazel,” Sam said from his throne. He was sprawled across it casually; legs spread wide, head leaning on one palm while the other scratched at a hellhound’s ears.

  
“My King,” Azazel spoke as he approached. He grinned as the usual amount of pride swept off him. He had groomed the Boy King all those centuries ago after all, and had remained his loyal right hand.  
  
“Is it true?” Sam smiled. It was unsettling. His smile appeared to be boyish and carefree, but a lingered look could see the malevolence in it. “Do we have a Winchester?”  
  
The line of Winchesters was long and powerful. The family hunted evil when Sam was still roaming the living world as a human. They attempted to stop his ascension as the Boy King, and although they failed, they were able to imprison Lucifer in Hell’s Cage once more. For many generations after, they tried to end Sam’s reign until they forgot his genesis as well. There had never been a Winchester doomed to torment before.  
  
“Yes,” Azazel replied simply.   
  
“Go on,” Sam urged, impatient, “Tell me of them.”  
  
“His name is Dean Winchester, and he’s sixteen years old,” Azazel said. He watched the curious glint that fluttered through Sam’s eyes, his smile wife from excitement that wouldn't fade.. “He was gifted with the sight. His mother, who carried the name and lineage, died when he was a boy, before she could pass on her knowledge. His father thought the demons were hallucinations. He had the boy committed to numerous facilities and psychiatrists.”   
  
Sam laughed and clapped his hands together, “I love when humans torture one another. Oh, I do believe I know where this is going.”  
  
“He killed himself.” Azazel confirmed.   
  
“A mortal sin,” Sam whispered and chuckled. “Bring him to me.”

Azazel turned and nodded his head to a nearby demon that left without a word. “He’ll be here soon. He’s with Alastair.”

Sam scoffed. His disdain for that demon was obvious, and Azazel scarcely convinced the King not to smite him. Alastair was the best at torment. Some things he thought of and carried out made other demons flinch, so Sam kept him. Alastair was completely ignored in his dungeons, free to do as he pleased with whichever souls he pleased.  
  
Dean Winchester was being dragged in by the demon that’d left to collect him; Alastair trailed just a few strides behind. Once a few feet from the steps to the throne, the demon dropped Dean’s arm, and he crumpled to the floor.  
  
Dean managed to remain upright. Every breath was agony and filled his lungs with more blood. He couldn’t die though - he was already dead. He slowly upturned his head to look at the man on the throne.  
  
He looked different from the others. He looked human. The other creatures – the demons – didn’t have flesh, and their eyes were void of all life.  
  
Although this man appeared human, he frightened Dean more than the others. Perhaps it was the way the ugly creatures bowed to him, or how his smile looked charming and innocent even though his face was framed with dried blood from his crown of thorns while his eyes promised violence.  
  
Dean managed a pathetic huff sound, and hoped it showed how unimpressed he was with the whole damned thing. He stared into the man’s eyes defiantly, mouth curled.  
  
Sam laughed and stood from his seat. He stalked toward Dean, circled the boy once he was in his presence.   
  
“What a pretty boy,” Sam said as he knelt in front on him, “Are all the Winchesters as pretty as you, Dean?”  
  
Dean gurgled something and glared at him. Sam cocked his head to the side, smirked, and waited for an answer. Sam reached forward and carded a hand through Dean’s dirty hair. Dean wrenched himself to the side, gasped loud in pain from the movement.  
  
Sam acted as if didn’t notice, “Just you then, pretty boy?”   
  
He gripped the teenager by the hair and brought him back, closer to him. When he still didn’t answer, Sam pressed the fingertips of his other hand to the boy’s chest, drawing blood.  
  
“I heard a rumor once,” Sam said casually, “that Winchesters were so… magnificent and loved by God because they had angel blood in them. Your family lineage goes back to the times when angels could still roam the living world. It could be true. Is it?”  
  
Sam watched the boy glare at him as he brought the fingertips to mouth. Dean huffed again; his throat was too damaged to even spit at him.  
  
“You taste like any other human,” Sam whispered, “but I enjoy the taste of it all the same.”  
  
Sam tightened his hold on Dean’s hair when he still didn’t respond.  
  
“Why won’t he speak?” Sam demanded. He forced Dean’s mouth opened with the fingers coated in Dean’s blood, “Where is his tongue?”  
  
“He’s a smartass,” Alastair replied. “I warned him that I’d rip his tongue out if he kept it up. He’s one of the stubborn ones.”  
  
Sam regarded him with only a look. He dropped his hand from Dean’s head to the back of his neck, willed hell to rebuild Dean’s body even though it wasn’t completely torn apart yet.  
  
Dean heaved in breaths, lungs finally free of blood.  
  
“There. Better.” Sam said.  
  
“Fuck you,” Dean immediately spat. His saliva landed on the corner of the man’s mouth. He gazed at Dean for a moment before licking the spit into his mouth.  
  
“Well, those are some nice first words,” Sam teased.

Dean scrunched his face together for a response. Sam chuckled and peered behind him, his smile dropped for the first time since Dean entered.

“Why are you here?” Sam addressed Alastair. “I did not call for you.”  
  
“The boy,” Alastair said certainly, but he shuffled on his feet. “When you’re done with him, I was going to bring him back.” He grinned. “I was going to make him my pet… project.”  
  
“Yours?” Sam asked, furrowing his brow in false bewilderment. “Your pet? Did you have some claim to this soul above me? Or perhaps you became the King of Hell and I was unaware?”  
  
Alastair didn’t answer. No one spoke.  
  
“No, you didn’t.” Sam smiled all false sweetness. “You have no claim to him. Now, leave.”  
  
The phrase kept repeating itself in Dean’s mind, King of Hell. When Sam turned back to him, and their eyes met, Dean breathed out ‘Lucifer’ without intention to.  
  
“Most know me as that,” Sam mused, “but it’s Sam. Or Master. King.”  
  
“Sam?” Dean asked incredulously. “You call yourself Sam? You’re supposed to be the ruler of all evil and you give yourself the name of a golden retriever?”  
  
“Samuel.” He clarified.  
  
“Oh,” Dean nodded, gave Sam a hard look. “Oh, right. Well, look here Sammy, if you think I’m gonna thank ya for sending Edward Scissor Hands away, you can go fuck yourself.”  
  
“Thank me?” Sam repeated. He laughed. “If I want you to thank me then you will.” The tone was the same as before when he questioned Alastair. It was one that demanded silence and obedience.   
  
Sam leaned in close to Dean, the thorns of his crown prickled at Dean’s forehead. “I didn’t save you,” he whispered, “You were already mine.”  
  
A chill crept down Dean’s spine. It froze him in place when all he wanted to do was run from this man. Sam smiled again and chuckled. He reached up and caressed Dean’s face; he dropped his hand so he could rub his thumb across Dean’s bottom lip.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn't want to be trained or touched, but it's only a matter of time before he obeys. Sam will make sure of that. 
> 
> Warnings for underage sexual stuff, continued manipulation and a very, very brief moment where Dean tries to imagine female parts, but it doesn't go over well at all.

One of the King’s mindless drones, Aza-something, took Dean away at Sam’s command (it was too fucking much, how was he supposed to take these demons seriously with names like that, Jesus) and chained him to a cot in a cramped cell with not much else but the stench of piss and vomit assaulting his nose. 

"No water… or pie?" 

The yellow eyed demon didn’t look him in the eyes, but he  _did_ answer. “Such things are not required in Hell, only desired. Be grateful you have something to sleep on. That is a privilege others have not been given. Tell me, what have  _you_ done to deserve even the smallest of comforts?” The demon left without even a glance in Dean’s direction. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed. It felt like days. But the creepy dude with dried blood on his face returned. “Heya,  _Sammy._ Get me outta these chains, will ya? Startin’ to chafe over here.”  _  
_

That got a raised eyebrow. “Excuse you?” 

Dean bit his lip before answering. “Your name is Sam, isn’t it?” 

"You called me Sammy. I’m not some chubby twelve year old. I’m the  _King._ Better start treating me like it, pretty boy.” 

Dean raised his chin in defiance. “Yeah? And what if I don’t? You’re like one of those creeps my dad warned me to stay away from as a kid, one that had a white van stocked up with candy.” 

Sam’s eyes narrowed and he glared, looking anything but amused by this point. “If you don’t listen to your new Master, pretty boy, there will be consequences. And I can assure you I’m not a child molester,” he said with distaste. 

"Really now, that’s hilarious. Then why do you have a sixteen year old chained to a bed?" 

Sam took a few steps closer, his 6’4 frame looming over Dean’s, making him feel tiny, easily crushed. “Alright, this is how it’s going to be, pretty boy. You will call me, Sir, Master, King or some other variation of that.” Shit, he was so close now, Dean could feel the heat radiating off the psychopath. “Sam, or your disgusting use of  _Sammy_ is not allowed under any circumstances. You will follow all orders given to you or you will be punished. Obey and you shall be rewarded. Do you understand?” 

"M-man, whatever. You can’t treat me like this and expect me to kiss your ass," Dean growled, yanking on his chains, wanting to scoot away from the King of Hell, but he was already pressed against the end of the cot with nowhere else to go. 

Now Sam knelt down beside him where struggled with the chains, giving him a hungry smile. “I can make you feel so good, or very very bad. The choice, pet, is all yours.” 

He let out a surprised cry when Sam grabbed his face and squeezed painfully. The King of Hell stared into his eyes for a few heart stopping seconds before tracing Dean’s lips with his tongue. “Let me in,” he rasped. “I’ve been thinking about having another taste all day. Maybe… more.”

At first Dean tried to pull free from Sam’s grasp, but quickly realized Sam wasn’t going to step back until he got what he wanted. “Fine,” he sighed loudly. “Have your fuckin’ kiss.” He opened his mouth and met Sam half way, but was completely unprepared by how intense it was. He expected it to burn and it did, but not with heat. It burned cold, almost like frostbite.

Sam sucked on his tongue before pulling back, like he was sucking on Dean’s fucking dick for Christ’s sake and gave him another predatory smile. “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Dean almost agreed with him.

* * *

It could have been months. It felt longer. For all Dean knew, it may have been a week.

  
He asked Sam once how long it had been since he was brought to Hell. Sam slyly responded, “two days,” but Dean didn’t believe him. Sam – the King – liked to play tricks.  
  
There wasn’t a way to tell time. There wasn’t a sun, moon, or any cycle to judge it by. When he asked Sam, his only contact, how they knew when it was day or night or even how much time passed, he said, “One of Hell’s many torments.”  
  
“Only the King has the power to tell the minutes and days apart,” he added cruelly, refusing to divulge any more on it.  
  
Not even his father could infuriate him more. Sam liked to tease and goad until Dean misbehaved, and Dean was sure it was all on purpose. Sam liked punishing him almost as much as he seemed to like rewarding him, too.  
  
Dean tried not to think about it. If he did, he would dwell. He wasn’t a dog; he kept telling himself. Sam couldn’t buy him like this.  
  
Except that he could, and he knew it.  
  
“Sleep well, Dean?” The whisper was in his ear accompanied by warm breath. It was a contrast to the cold hand placed against his bare stomach.  
  
His name. Sam rarely used it; he preferred more degrading terms like “pretty boy” and “pet”. He must be in a good mood today.  
  
Dean was, too. He had slept well. He was curled up on his side in an unnecessarily large and plush bed; it was one of the only nice things he’s seen in Hell. The only downside was that it was Sam’s. Dean didn’t even care; it was leagues better than the cell he was tied in when he ‘misbehaved’.   
  
“I’d still be sleeping well if you hadn’t bothered me,” Dean griped.   
  
Sam chuckled, “You’ve slept enough. You don’t even need sleep in hell. Be thankful you get any.”  
  
Dean didn’t miss the underlying message: I own you. I give you everything. Even sleep.   
  
Dean didn’t argue, although he’d like to. He’d only be taken to the cell when it was time to rest instead of this bed. He frowned; realizing Sam’s… training was working.  
  
“Mm’ not a dog,” Dean mumbled, thinking out loud.  
  
“You are my pretty pet,” Sam teased, sitting up. He slipped away from the bed.   
  
Dean didn’t bother to watch were he went; he only hoped he was putting on clothes. Sam took his away a long time ago, and he hasn’t been allowed any since. It was a part of why he loved to sleep – blankets. So when Sam was naked as well, it only sent warning shivers up Dean’s spine. Sam liked to kiss and grope.  
  
It was only a matter of time before it was more.  
  
“I told you to get up,” Dean heard Sam’s cold voice. Shit.  
  
Dean sat up leisurely, peering up at Sam. Thank God, he was wearing pants. Or thank the Devil. Ha, Dean was so funny.  
  
“Of course, Master,” Dean drawled, sarcasm thick, “I was just slow on translating ‘you’ve slept enough’ into ‘get up’.”  
  
Dean yelped when Sam yanked him forward by his hair. He was pushed downward while Sam looped something around his neck and began to fasten it in the back. Dean hadn’t even perceived that Sam had something in his hands; what was it- was it going to hurt-  
  
“Wait, Sam, I’m,” Dean was cut off as Sam maneuvered him back into sitting straight.  
  
“I prefer Master, even dripped with sarcasm,” Sam replied coolly. He was grinning, adjusting the collar around his pet’s neck.  
  
“Pretty collar for a pretty boy,” He murmured, pleased. “Pets should always have a collar, and unruly ones should always have leash. They learn better.”  
  
He ended his statement by pinching Dean’s nose and patting his cheek twice.  
  
As he walked away, Dean scrambled off the bed, not caring about the sheet spilling away from his lap, “What? King, wait. I don’t… what did I do?”  
  
Dean constantly pushed. He liked to test his boundaries, but hadn’t actively gone too far in a long time. He liked sleeping in Sam’s bed; he liked eating food (although inessential, just like sleep), and he has been on his best behavior because he wanted his clothes back. His attitude still needed to be checked from time to time, but he was sure Sam liked that.  
  
“Nothing. This is not a punishment, pet.” Sam said.   
  
“It feels like one,” Dean argued. His breath hitched when Sam came to him, holding a short chain in his hand. He spoke fast, tilting back against the bed, “This definitely is one, don’t. Please.”  
  
Dean knew Sam liked to hear him beg, and it brought a smile to Sam, but it was wry. He grabbed Dean’s collar and hauled him roughly back to him before he got too far away and said, “Are you going to be good or bad, Dean?”  
  
Dean wanted to be the worst. It would only lead to discipline, and he’d end up wearing the damn thing anyways.  
  
“Good boy,” Sam mocked as he connected the chain.

This time, his smile was pleased. He held Dean’s cheeks with both his hands as he leaned in and kissed him almost tenderly.  
  
Dean hadn’t fought or flinched away from this in a long time. He swore that Sam used some kind of Devil voodoo black magic on him when he kissed him. He made Dean like it, somehow. The chill that spread over his lips calmed him and encouraged him to part his mouth.  
  
He stepped forward, stomach and chest brushing against Sam’s as he inclined his head farther up for him. He brought his hands forward to lightly rest on Sam’s hips.  
  
Sam’s kiss was slow and sweet, tongue probing with gentle curiosity. Dean began to kiss back, couldn’t help himself.  
  
Sam’s hands slide down Dean’s neck and over his shoulders, dropping and forgetting that chain. They trailed down the young boy’s back until they reached his ass, gripping firmly. Dean felt his heart beat faster even though he should be used to such intimate touches.  
  
Sam lifted him with ease, using a hand to force one of Dean’s legs around his waist as he knelt onto the bed. He lowered Dean slowly, grabbing the chain and moving it to the side, so he could rest his body against Dean’s without anything in the way.  
  
Sam’s lips became harsher, more demanding as they slid along Dean’s.   
  
Dean found himself kissing with more vigor, wrapping his arms around Sam’s neck, fingernails digging into skin.  
  
Sam dragged his teeth over Dean’s bottom lip, and Dean sluggishly opened his eyes at the prolonged bite. He met Sam’s eyes, shimmering with gold. It should scare him, but he only felt a throb of desire.  
  
As if Sam could sense it, he grinned. He backed off, looking down the length of Dean’s body. Dean couldn’t find the shame he felt before. Sam felt so good against him. Even the hot bulge Dean felt against his inner thigh through Sam’s pants excited him.  
  
He gasped when Sam came back down, nudging Dean’s head to the side so he could ravish his neck with bruises and kisses. Dean already had enough hickeys scattered on his body, but Sam always seemed to want to add more.  
  
He moved gradually down Dean’s chest and stomach, kissing sweetly and biting roughly. His hands claimed Dean more than his mouth, pressed possessive bruises into his skin until Sam was at his destination.  
  
Dean’s heart was beating erratically. Sam had never touched him there before, and somewhere in his mind he knew it would happen, but it never felt real. The hand that moved over him and caressed him teasingly was very real, though. Dean swallowed, his nerves making him shudder. He felt Sam’s other hand force his leg to open further.   
  
He hadn’t realized he was hard before Sam began to touch him. How could he not have noticed? Briefly, he wondered how many times he had gotten hard when Sam touched him in the past.  
  
His mind stopped when he felt the icy press of Sam’s lip against his cock. He moaned, and immediately flushed all over.  
  
Sam chuckled; taking Dean in his hand loosely and teasingly jerked it, “You’re such a pretty boy, you know?”  
  
“Of course you’re going to be a jerk right now,” Dean managed to say without breath.  
  
“Is that what you call this?” Sam asked. He kissed Dean’s thigh, scraping his teeth against the flesh. “Me, being a jerk?” He returned back to Dean’s dick, licking it.  
  
Dean rose onto his elbows, looking down, and he really shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t find Sam to be so irresistibly alluring, either. The sight of Sam’s sly smile nestled against the conjunction of his thigh and groin while his hand stroked him caused a dribble of pre-come. Fuck.  
  
“Don’t look away,” Sam ordered huskily.   
  
Dean watched as Sam took him into his mouth, cheeks hollowly as he sucked. He peered up, eyes never leaving Dean’s. Sam slide all the way down – Dean could feel his throat at the tip of his dick.  
  
His legs began to shake, and Sam grabbed them, holding them down with a near painful force. Dean whimpered as Sam continued. The sound pleased Sam and he pressed his tongue to the underside of Dean’s cock on his next drag up, continuing over the head and licking at the slit.  
  
Dean wanted to collapse. He was afraid to stop looking though – if he stopped, Sam would stop, but looking was near too much.  
One of Sam’s hands dragged against his inner thigh, resting just under his balls. They cupped him for a moment, and then fondled them gently.  
  
There was a slight fear coursing through Dean with Sam on his most delicate parts, but the lust he felt was far greater.  
  
Sam’s hand was moving again, going further, fingers rubbing against his crack and right over-  
  
“No,” Dean cried out before he could think, entire body flinching.  
  
Sam stopped his movements. Dean trembled, cursing himself. What would Sam do? Was he going to be punished?  
  
Sam moved his mouth from Dean, his hand at his backside as well. He smiled, but Dean didn’t trust it. Sam put his hand back on Dean, jerking him as he leaned forward to kiss Dean again.  
  
Slowly, Dean unwound. His hips stuttered, wanting more from Sam’s hand. He kissed Sam deeper, and Sam responded in kind. Dean hesitantly raised his hands to Sam’s hair, gripping at the strands mildly.  
  
Dean grunted when Sam pulled his lips away; he wanted more.   
  
Sam only lifted his hand away, too, and then his body. Dean was panting; he was so close to orgasming, but now he was only confused.  
  
“Sam?” Dean called, sitting up.  
  
Sam turned from where he was, coyly smiling. He didn’t say anything. Dean blushed, stopping himself from asking why he stopped. But… why? What the hell?  
  
“You done?” He asked snippily, instead.  
  
“Yup,” The king replied casually, “You were uncomfortable.”  
  
Dean opened his mouth to argue, face red, before he froze. That fucking bastard.  
  
He was goading him into admitting that he wanted it; that he wanted Sam. He wanted him to touch him, make him come, and Sam was grinning, knowing Dean was working it all out in his head.  
  
That  _fucker_.  
  
Dean just glared.

* * *

Sam kept teasing Dean over and over that day. Or maybe it was longer, it sure fucking felt like it. Bringing him near orgasm and stopping right before he was going to come. Kept giving him that same rage inducing grin, too. “What you gonna do about it, pretty boy?” Sam had sneered when Dean had forgotten his place, gotten too mouthy with his words. Dean had no good answer for that, so he’d said nothing. 

His cock was aching, body begging for release with the near constant blue balls. He _had_ to come. Shit, he’d rather be back with that psycho Alastair. This brand of sadism was a completely different level, too much. 

He cracked quickly. 

When Sam finally left him alone Dean took advantage of that fact and grasped himself while hiding in the sheets of that plush bed and stroked his leaking dick hard and fast, biting back his moans as best as he could, so hard he started tasting blood. His toes curled as he got closer, a layer of sweat coating his body from the near frantic pulls on his cock. He tried to picture big juicy tits that he could bite into, round gorgeous asses and silky hair. 

Instead he got Sam smirking, giving him those hungry looks like he couldn’t wait to eat him up. Huge fucking hands that could be rough or gentle. Lips as soft as any girls. 

The King of Hell had been Dean’s only contact since that first day. That was the excuse Dean was going to use for the fact Sam’s face had been the one to enter his fantasy and not leave. 

It didn’t mean anything. 

The door to Sam’s room swung open and Dean yelped, hand still clenching his dick, eyes wide at the  _real Sam_  standing right in front of him. 

He didn’t look pleased. 

"Stop touching yourself, Dean. Or you won’t like the consequences." Sam’s voice was calm, but there was a coolness to it that screamed  _don’t fuck with me_. Even so, it wasn’t the tone that stopped him, but the use of his name. 

Dean reluctantly let go of himself, precome coating his fingers and he moved to wipe them off, but suddenly Sam was there and those fingers were in his fucking  _mouth._

"Your timing is the worst," Dean tried to growl, but it came out more like a gasp. 

Sam let go of his fingers and chuckled darkly. “I’m the King of Hell. Did you think you could touch yourself without me knowing?” 

A chill ran through Dean. All the times he’d thought he was alone… he hadn’t been? This crazy fuck had been watching? Well that made sense, but it didn’t make him feel any better. 

The King of Hell stood up straight, teasing smile gone. “You’re mine, pretty boy. All mine. This means you only get to come if I let you, if I touch you. Keep your hands to yourself. Because you’ve misbehaved you’re getting locked up in your cell. Bad pets don’t get to stay in nice, comfy beds-“ 

"N-no, fuck, I’ll be good, I, I didn’t know! Please don’t send me away." Dean panicked, trying to find a way to get Sam to keep him. "The demons stare, you know. Want to touch me like you do. If you send me back there-"

As expected, Sam’s chest puffed out in anger. “Who would do this? I am the King, they know I’ve claimed you.”

Dean licked his lips nervously. “Er, that one that brought me to you that first day, sir.” 

"Alastair," Sam ground out and it made Dean want to shrink away from him. Fuck, sometimes he forgot how scary Sam could get. "Very well, I’ll keep you here, but don’t think you’re escaping punishment." 

Dean sagged in relief. “Yes, sir.” 

Sam kept him tied up in his bed for a long time. He’d lay extra close, so Dean’s entire body prickled in awareness, so his hair stood on end, but unlike the other times he didn’t touch him. Just stared with those piercing eyes. 

When he finally released Dean from the binds he was so relieved he felt the urge to kiss him, to bury his nose in the scent of the body that was always so close, but not quite close enough. 

He braced himself for more contact, for Sam to at least ruffle Dean’s hair a bit. 

Sam didn’t fucking touch him. 

He got out of bed and made his way to leave and Dean? Well, he couldn’t deny the desperation that went through him at the knowledge he’d be alone again. 

_Fuck. I want him and I like him and I want him._

"Don’t, Master. Please! Stay with me." Dean scrambled out of bed and fell to his knees at Sam’s feet. He knew if he didn’t give in Sam would just keep torturing him and Dean, fuck, he needed this. 

Sam rose a questioning brow at him. “Pet, I can’t. I’ve got King of Hell duties to attend to. We’ll chat soon-“ 

"I, I want you," he stammered. 

"Come again? I didn’t quite catch that." 

"I want you to touch me and make me come, sir. Please." He couldn’t help it, he was so touch starved and Sam was actually kinda attractive. 

Sam’s answer was to pull Dean up by his leash and tug him back to the bed, pushing him down and then keep a hand on his chest. “Stay. You take what I give you. No more, no less. Your head doesn’t move from that pillow, your hands stay off me. Only use your mouth. Understand?” 

Dean nodded, eyes huge and mouth dry. His body buzzed with Sam so close, begged for his touch. 

Sam quickly undressed, eyes hooded with desire so obvious it made Dean’s pulse jump. God, that body was all lean, hard muscle. So powerful, no softness at all. 

Sam climbed up to the head of the bed for an icy kiss, then straddled him facing the other direction, his hard, fat dick in Dean’s face. His mouth watered at the sight and he opened up to accept it, but it was just out of reach. Dean whined in frustration. 

"Patience, pet. Just kiss and bite at my thighs. Accept what I give you, remember?" 

"Y-yes," Dean whispered and bit into Sam’s skin, which caused the older man to groan. 

Then he felt an ice cold burning mouth engulf his length and it took everything in Dean not to thrust. His kisses became more frenzied, even left a couple bruises on Sam’s skin and, oh shit, he was gonna get in trouble for that later-

Sam took Dean in deep, and Dean, while not as big as Sam in the cock department, absolutely did not have a small one. He tried not to think about how many other dicks Sam must have sucked to get this good and instead focused on the overwhelming pleasure of Sam’s throat fluttering around his cock, hands expertly rolling his balls in a way Dean hadn’t even realized he liked. 

Without warning Sam’s cock was forcefully shoved at Dean’s mouth and he opened up immediately, but growled in annoyance when his only reward for his patience was the tip. He never had a dick in his mouth before and found himself mimicking Sam’s moves, swirling his tongue along the head, teasing at the slit until a small amount of precome landed on his tongue. Dean moaned at the taste and then Sam, because he was bobbing his head so fast, kept taking Dean in all the way and, fuck, he wasn’t gonna last-

Before he could even warn the King he was screaming and coming pathetically quickly down his throat. 

As soon as Dean came down from his orgasm Sam had moved off his dick, turned around and ended up sitting gently on his chest, that long hard cock right near his lips.

"Keep your pretty mouth open for me pet so I can feed you my come," Sam growled and started stroking, eyes locked on Dean. 

Dean panted up at Sam and followed the command. It wasn’t long before his hands found their way to Sam’s thighs. He pressed into the marks he’d left there, mesmerized. “Please come in my mouth sir,” he whispered. 

A dirty thrill went through Dean at the way Sam’s head tilted back as he shot ropes of warm come into Dean’s waiting mouth, all across his chin and cheeks. 

Sam lifted a slightly trembling hand and swirled his fingers in the come, tracing random patterns before he carefully rubbed it all into Dean’s skin. 

If Dean hadn’t felt marked and claimed before, that action sealed the deal. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Dean’s a bad pet and now he must suffer the consequences. 
> 
> Warnings: underage sex, continued emotional manipulation, abuse, violence, Stockholm Syndrome, romanticized non con and there is a situation with Hellhounds that might make you uncomfortable. If Dean afraid and running and upset squicks you out you might wanna skip that part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is, as always, greatly appreciated.

Dean was so restless.  
  
It had been months since his master and he began their sexual activities, and that was the only stimulation Dean got.  
  
Sometimes Sam brought him – on his collar and chain – to his throne, naked, sitting at his feet or on his lap. Dean was often too embarrassed to look up. Not that he’d want to even if clothed, anyways. Sam was the only one who looked like him, who looked human. There were some who didn’t look as demented as the demons, and when he asked about them, Sam only responded ‘halflings’.  
  
Every now and then, he could walk with Sam to other places, but he wished he was back in the room at those times. He could hear screams of such agony that they didn’t sound human even though he knew they were.  
  
“Get used to it,” Sam would say coldly, “It’s hell.”  
  
The only comfort Dean ever received from his master was the rare soft kisses. They were a shallow comfort.   
  
It just meant Sam was going to try to be inside him that night. Dean always flinched and said no, begged his master to touch him in other ways. Sam listened. He was merely waiting for Dean to ask for it. He got off on it, making Dean beg for things he swore he never would.  
  
It got under Dean’s skin. Pissed him off. He’d last a few nights in his spiteful anger before he’d crawl into Sam’s lap and ask for his touch. It was the only thing Dean had.  
  
Yet, Sam still left. For days at a time, sometimes longer. He always knew when Dean had misbehaved, too; he was watching. Somehow.   
  
That’s why Dean decided ‘fuck it’ and marched from the room towards where he knew the stairs were located. If Sam didn’t want him to go, he’d stop him. Dean knew he wasn’t allowed to leave the room, but Sam had never said so directly, so it was entirely Sam’s fault that Dean was purposefully being ignorant.  
  
The stairs weren’t where he remembered. He wondered if Sam moved them – he could manifest hell any way he liked as the King. He thought it, and it happened.   
  
Dean should have taken the hint.

  
Instead, he continued until he discovered new hallways and floors and rooms to explore. It was exciting. After hours of this, he found himself at the ground level, and hoisted himself through a window to go outside. It was a wasteland of bones and blood.  
  
There was a dread in him. Demons wouldn’t dare mess with him, right? He was Sam’s. The King’s.  
  
But the King was the scariest one of them all, and Dean knew, he knew, he shouldn’t have left. He hadn’t been punished in a long time, and he was basically begging to be. His heart was pumping uncontrollably, and Dean’s hands shook as he thought about it. He tried to think ‘fuck him’, but all he thought about was how cruel Sam could be if he wanted.  
  
With that, he pushed himself back through the window and into the tower and headed quickly back to Sam’s room.   
  
Sam will know that Dean left. He couldn’t hide from him though, not in hell. He came back quickly without intention of running away. That counts, right?  
  
Dean was lost for only an hour on the way back, but he’d been gone most of the day. He was sure Sam would be away for several more. But Sam was leaned against the headboard, a thick book in his lap. Dean had no idea what he was reading; he couldn’t read any of the books in hell, just like how he couldn’t understand anything in Sam’s throne room. It was all in hellspeak.  
  
His master didn’t acknowledged him, only flipped pages.  
  
Dean was too afraid to approach. Distantly, he heard his own voice, “Hello, Master.”  
  
Sam blinked and his eyes were on Dean instantaneous and burning gold.   
  
“Have fun?” Sam asked deeply with a hidden threat.  
  
Dean didn’t know how to answer it. He stammered, “I’m sorry.”  
  
“I didn’t ask if you were sorry,” Sam quipped coldly, “Shall I repeat myself?”  
  
“No, Master,” Dean could feel tears behind his eyes. He couldn’t lie. Sam would know. “I… I did.”   
  
Sam was tense; Dean could see it in the way his muscles moved when he slid off the bed and laid the book carelessly on the stand next to the bed. He turned, stalking over to Dean slowly.  
  
Dean was trembling, tears threatening to fall. He couldn’t handle the rigidity.  
  
Sam stood over him. His height seemed greater now, with him leaned over Dean’s smaller frame so domineering.   
  
“Are you a dog?”  
  
“What?” Dean said before thinking. He glanced up to Sam’s eyes, but immediately casted them to the floor. “No… no, master.”  
  
“No, you’re not. You’re my pet, yet I thought you were more than a dog. Even a dog stays where it’s put and listen to its’ owner.” Sam said. His voice calm, too calm – too fucking calm, it terrified Dean. There was anger laced with it, but nothing overt. He would prefer his Master growling with obvious fury. “Do you resent being here, with me?”  
  
He was messing with him. He had to be. They both knew that being with Sam was the best place in hell, and now he was dancing around Dean’s punishment on purpose. To torture him. It worked. Dean was wrecked with anxiety.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Dean begged, “I won’t do it again.”  
  
“Do what?” Nothing was on Sam’s face. No expression or emotion, it was more alarming than the tint of wrath from before.  
  
“I won’t leave,” Dean said desperately.  
  
Sam smiled. It was all wrong, mocking and evil. “Oh, pet,” He said condescendingly, “You could have had all the adventure you wanted. What did you do wrong?”  
  
Dean was stumped for a moment, before it punched him in the gut. Barely audible, he said, “Ask… I should have asked your permission, master. I’m so sorry. Please.”  
  
“Why did you need my permission?”  
  
It was some kind of test. Dean couldn’t breathe under the pressure, the thought of spending nights in the cage destroying any focus. Dean closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath.   
  
Sam’s hand was gripping the chain connected to his collar so tightly that his hand was white. He knew the answer. Uttering the words was much easier than he would have ever imagined a year ago.  
  
“Because I’m yours,” Dean whispered. “I’m yours, Master. Please, I’m so sorry.” Not the cage, not the cage.  
  
Dean felt Sam’s large hand on his cheek, stroking away tears gently with his thumb. Dean hadn’t realized that he had begun to cry.  
  
“I’m not going to put you in the cage,” Sam said. He knew anymore time like that would break Dean in a way Sam didn’t want him broken. He was breaking Dean perfectly – how he was acting now was proof of that. “But you are a disappointing, disobeying, little pet, aren’t you?”  
  
The flinch Dean gave in response was oddly satisfying. His pet was much calmer now with the aspect of the cage out of the situation, yet he was still frigid.  
  
“Come. We’re going outside, since you’re too restless to even ask.” Sam yanked the chain painfully and Dean stumbled into him. Sam turned, moving towards the stairs. Dean tripped over his feet that couldn’t keep up to stop the choking bite from the collar.  


* * *

  
Dean couldn’t cry anymore. There wasn’t any hydration in him. He didn’t know how he could still manage to scream; the act tore his throat.  
  
He was starving. Exhausted and thirsty, too, but his stomach was twisted and cramped in a hunger he had never known before. Were he still human, he would have died days ago, but he was in hell. Sleep, food, water… none of it was required to continue to exist. It was almost as maddening as the maze.  
  
The maze. Dean wanted to sob.   
  
 _You want to act like an untrained beast then you’ll stay with the untrained beasts._  
  
At first, Dean thought he was left in the maze for punishment, but he’d been here so long. Sam didn’t want him anymore; he’d abandoned him. He had taken his collar. It hurt more than the dogs.  
  
 _You’ll stay with the untrained beasts._  
  
Young hellhounds not even half the size of the ones by Sam’s throne, but vicious and strong and impossible to escape from. Dean’s right leg was still ruined from the last time one caught him. When he could manage to sleep for a few moments, he’d wake up with the damage to his body gone, but he wasn’t so lucky this past day.  
  
He tried to calm down. Stop thinking. He trembled, his bare body near frozen. The temperature was either scorching or glacial. His heart beat gradually began to slow.  
  
But he heard it. The soft growling, not far.   
  
He tried to stand, but the weight was too much. He began to crawl. He couldn’t take being ravaged by them again. He didn’t get away. He never did.  
  
A loud bark let the other hellhounds know that prey had been found. Instantly, one was on him, ripping into his shoulder. He cried out, the yell as painful as the bite. Nails dug into his back, and he shook his head, begging silently for it to end quickly this time.  
  
“Down!”  
  
The weight on his back and legs left. He heard whining. And that voice- that voice was-  
  
Dean managed to move his head to look up and he saw his master. He knew he would be crying if only he had the moisture, and he tried to call for him, but his throat wouldn’t allow it.   
  
“You don’t look like you’ve had fun,” Sam said, kneeling by him. “Although you do look quite pretty covered in blood, pet.”  
  
Dean tried to speak, but his throat wouldn’t work. His heart was fluttering, and he reached for Sam. Sam obliged him, lifting Dean off the ground to where he was sitting up, leaning against him. Dean clutched at the King’s shirt, burying his face against his chest and breathing him in. He was here, with him, he came back for Dean; he hadn’t given up –  
  
“Can’t talk pet, or are you speechless?” Sam teased.  
  
Dean pushed in closer against him, hoping he wasn’t disappointing Sam, but he couldn’t talk. Sam must have known- he knows everything in hell, after all – but he worried any ways.   
  
He felt the icy fingertips at his adam’s apple, stroking down, and he felt his insides mend and saliva enter his mouth.   
  
“M-Master,” Dean croaked.  
  
“Sh,” Sam took a hold of Dean’s face, angling it so he could kiss the younger boy. Dean completely relaxed and opened his mouth.  
  
“I’ve missed you,” Sam said against his lips. He smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief.   
  
Dean didn’t take note. His heart soared at his master’s words. He’d never let his master down again.   
  
Sam was moving him; Dean’s face pressed into the ground. He cried out from the turn, his mangled leg and back screaming in agony. Sam didn’t stop, and began to spread his legs apart. The pain was too much, and Dean sobbed. He didn’t say anything, afraid for Sam to leave him again, but his entire body was shaking with pain.  
  
Sam paused, taking in the sight of his pet. He knew he was in pain, but there was something more to Dean’s composure. With a touch of his mind, Dean’s body reformed.  
  
The boy shifted, but didn’t move to get up. When one of the dogs let out a low whine, he flinched horribly.   
  
The idea of Dean submissive was typically appealing, could make Sam hard by imagining it. Dean willing to bend over and let Sam take him, take what he wanted, ruin him, was exactly what Sam wanted, but not like this. Quiet and pathetic and in fear.  
  
No, Sam wanted Dean undignified and willing by choice from his adoration of Sam. He wanted Dean to worship him, be his faithful loving pet. If he took him now, he’d be a void broken doll without spark, and that seemed awfully boring.  
  
“Kill them.”  
  
“My king?” The demon that had accompanied Sam into the maze turned to him for the first time since he had looked away from the scene with the King and his pet. He thought for sure the King was going to have the boy. “The hounds?”  
  
“All of them.” Sam said. He took Dean into his arms and stood, leaving the maze. Dean fisted his hands into Sam’s shirt, snuggled as close as possible.  
  
Dean began to cry silently once he realized they were headed back to Sam’s tower. Sam didn’t say anything even though the tears had soaked through his shirt by the time they reached the top of the stairs.   
  
Dean stared at the bed longingly once it came into view. Sam set him down gently, and grabbed a crimson sheet to pull over his bare body. He noticed he was clean of blood and dirt – Sam must have done that when he healed him.  
  
Sam began to walk away and Dean bolted up, staring with wide eyes. He opened his mouth, but didn’t speak. His lips quivered as Sam got further away.  
  
He didn’t leave, though. He didn’t leave him. Dean felt wetness across his cheeks, but didn’t care.   
  
Sam came back and sat by him on the bed, setting down a plate of grapes, sliced apples and cheese, and a bit of meat. In his hand, he held a cup of water.  
  
“Eat and drink and then you can sleep, Dean.”  
  
Dean did as he was told, trying to not devour the food like an animal.  
  
“Th-thank you, Master.” Dean said. He began to shake as Sam walked away again, but he was only placing the utensils on the table across the room.  
  
Sam was soon lying beside him, arm stretched across the bed so Dean could cuddle into his side. He was drained, but he didn’t want to sleep. He was reveling being pressed against his master once again, but… one thing plagued him. He didn’t want to ask anything of his king, but the thought was torturing him.  
  
“Ma… Master,” Dean whispered.  
  
“Yes, pet?”  
  
Dean trembled, his fingers brushing his bare throat, “My… Can I… Please, I want…”  
  
Sam turned his head to him, eyebrow cocked in curiosity.  
  
“Please,” Dean begged, “Please, can… can I have it back? My collar. Master, please, I want…”   
  
Sam shushed him again and sat up. Dean smiled as Sam came back with the black leather, attaching it securely around his throat.  
  
“This is what you want?”  
  
“Yes! I want to be yours. I want to be with you. I won’t leave again, I swear,” Dean blurted.  
  
“I know,” Sam smiled. He caressed Dean’s cheek, “You’re going to be my precious, obedient, adoring little pet.”   
  
He leaned forward and kissed Dean’s forehead. Dean closed his eyes and willingly went into Sam’s arms once he was on the bed again, silently agreeing with everything Sam said.

* * *

After Sam gave him his collar back things got better. 

Dean still disobeyed, but now it was more because he  _liked_ the punishments he was given. 

Sam seemed to prefer it when Dean begged for every touch, when he was craving Sam so badly he’d do  _anything_ for it. He’d make Dean crawl on his hands and knees, eat food from his hands, let Sam pull him around by that leash even though escape was the furthest thing from his mind. In the beginning it would have been humiliating. In the beginning he’d have fought and cursed. 

Now Sam was Dean’s safe haven. Now he  _needed_ to be groped, to sit on his Master’s lap. At least with Sam it wasn’t bad, at least he showed kindness, which was far more than anyone could hope for in Hell. He’d taken Dean under his care, protected him from Alastair and all the others that wanted him as a pet. The ones who wanted to strap him down and  _torture_ him, rip out his tongue. Dean knew when he’d been given a kick ass deal. And there was  _much_ worse than being the King of Hell’s beloved pet. 

When the King returned to his chambers after what felt like weeks of not seeing him, but was probably no more than a day or two of absence Dean fell to his knees, head bowed in reverence. He waited for permission to speak, for an order. He waited to hear his Master’s voice. 

"How are you feeling today, pretty boy?" 

"Good, sir. I’ve had plenty of sleep, just like you ordered."  _Please… please touch me._ He didn’t dare say the words out loud. He’d learned his lesson from too many times speaking out of turn what happened when he wasn’t a good pet, when he didn’t take whatever he was given. 

"That’s my good boy," Sam purred. 

Dean felt his chest swell at the praise. Sam bent down to Dean’s level and Dean’s heart hammered in his chest, breathing quickened. Those intense eyes gazed into his, held him captive. “Would you like to play with me, Dean?” 

These days, whenever Master called him  _Dean_ he immediately got hard, even though Sam hardly ever did anything about it, hardly ever got him off. At least, that’s how it felt to Dean anyway. 

"Yes," Dean groaned. 

Sam rubbed Dean’s lips with his thumb. “Tell me what you want.” 

"I, I don’t understand, sir." Dean frowned. 

"It’s a simple question. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you." 

Dean wanted to be  _taken_  and  _owned_ ,fully and completely. Wanted Sam to come in his ass. Wanted Sam inside him where he was meant to be. This was something Sam had yet to do and Dean would be lying if he said he didn’t think about it. Frequently. 

Dean licked his lips. “Master, I. I want you to fuck me.  _Please._ I’m ready. I need you, please don’t make me wait any longer.” 

Sam growled and bent closer. Dean could feel his icy breath on his face. 

“Crawl over to the bed, pet. Get your pretty ass in the air.” 

Dean’s cock gave a painful twitch as he scrambled to obey, keeping his ass high in the air as ordered. 

He should be used to this, being so exposed. He’d been naked so long now. But this time was different. Sam’s eyes on him had him panting because he  _knew_ it deep down, this was it. He’d feel all of Sam. He’d get what he wanted. 

When he reached the bed he stayed in position, not wanting to anger his Master in any way tonight. 

"Mm, you’re doing so well, Dean. Go on, do it. Lay face down on the bed." 

Dean jumped into bed and buried his face in the soft bedding with a moan. He waited what felt like forever, body slowly tensing. And then there was a cold, burning sensation on the back of his neck: Sam’s mouth. His tongue flicked out to taste Dean’s skin and Dean shivered. There was a chuckle from Sam before his teeth sunk into Dean’s neck. Dean was unable to stop himself and let out a yelp. 

Sometimes Sam liked to punish him when he made noise without permission and while the punishments themselves didn’t upset him, the thought of letting  _Sam_ down did. 

"It’s alright, pet. I want you to be loud. Want you to  _scream_ for me,” Sam murmured against his neck, giving his ass a rough squeeze. 

Dean whined and pressed back against Sam’s touch, which earned him a hard slap. “I said you can make noise, pet. Didn’t say you could move.” 

Dean’s eyes burned. He should have  _known._ "Sorry, Master. It won’t happen again." 

"It better not, or you won’t get my cock in your ass tonight, pretty boy." 

To his horror Dean let out a sob. He’d rather be humiliated in front of all the souls of Hell, get hundreds of lashes,  _anything_ besides going without Sam’s dick. 

"Shh, you’re okay." Sam’s fingertips traced along Dean’s skin, followed by burning kisses, making his heart jump in his throat. 

Finally, Sam’s mouth reached the slope of Dean’s ass. “You’ll like this. It’s gonna make you beg so  _pretty_ for me.” 

Before Dean could ask what Sam was talking about he was spreading Dean’s cheeks and, holy fuck, that icy tongue was caressing his hole, trying to wriggle inside and Dean cried out in shock and pleasure. “O-oh God-“ 

"God’s got nothing to do with this, kiddo," the King of Hell teased between licks. 

Dean was motionless, dick leaking onto the sheets. He wanted to squirm and thrust, but he didn’t dare. 

Sam didn’t stop fucking him with his tongue until Dean’s hole was open and slick with spit. Then Dean felt a nip on an ass check, a roughened thumb probing at his asshole. Sam had done this a few times. Just a finger or two. Not often, but enough to make the transition less difficult. ”F-fuck,” he whined. It was getting harder and harder to stay still. 

"Mm, that’s the plan. Enjoyed my tongue in your ass, huh? Just wait. It gets better." Sam circled his finger teasingly around Dean’s hole, barely pressing in and going right back out again. 

It was driving Dean insane. 

"P-put it in! Don’t make me wait any longer," Dean choked out, horrified as soon as the words left him. Punishments for trying to tell the  _King_ what to do were swift and severe. 

"Are you an untrained dog, Dean?" 

"N-no." 

"No, you’re my obedient, precious pet, aren’t you? I’d suggest you remember who you are talking to and appreciate the prep you’re receiving. I could have shoved into your tight, unused hole. But I didn’t. I might not be so nice in the future." Sam spoke calm and slow, but Dean shivered and grew tense as if he were screaming. 

"Y-yes, Master." 

Then Sam pressed against Dean’s ass firmly and his thick finger slowly slipped inside, making Dean gasp. “O-oh, sir. Can I  _please_ move? Please. I, I can’t stay still when you’re doing that-“ 

Sam trailed his free hand along Dean’s spine. “Alright, pretty boy. You can move.” 

Dean rolled his hips and moaned. It didn’t hurt at all. Within minutes he was slamming into Sam’s hand. “M’ready for another,” he panted. 

The King of Hell was quick to slip in a second finger and Dean’s ass clenched hard at the intrusion. It burned, but it was so fucking worth it to feel as  _full_ as he did. 

"So beautiful like this, pet.  _Needing_ me to take you,” Sam murmured, scraping his teeth along Dean’s back. 

By the time he worked in three fingers Dean was sobbing. He was too wide open and aching, needed something bigger to fill that space. “Please. Sir. I will do  _anything._ Anything. To feel you, all of you. Right now…”

Sam pulled out gently. “Sit up.” 

"What-" 

"I want to see your face. Now up," he said, sharper this time. 

Dean frowned and sat up, hating being without  _something_  in his ass. “Sir?” 

Sam patted on his now naked thighs. Dean couldn’t recall when his King had removed his clothes, but he was completely naked now. Dean’s breath quickened. “Get on my lap, facing me. I want to see your face when you come.” 

_Oh._

Dean whined and shot across the bed in seconds, gingerly lowering himself on his Master, legs on either side of him. He could feel Sam’s hard, fat dick pressing against his hole. “Oh fuck yes.” 

Sam stroked Dean’s chin. “Look at me the whole time.” And then, painfully slowly Sam adjusted himself and Dean slowly sunk down on his dick. 

“ _Sam!”_ he screamed. It was everything Dean had fantasized about and more, he was filled up perfectly, all those empty spaces now replaced with  _Sam_. He could finally breathe again. 

Until he realized he’d used his Master’s name out loud, that is. Then his lungs stopped working and he wanted so badly to look away. But he wasn’t about to disobey  _another_ order and risk fucking everything up completely. He flinched, body tensing and okay, that really fucking hurt his ass when he did that. 

There was a long sigh from Sam and he carefully stroked Dean’s face. “It’s okay. Right now I give you permission to call me by my name if you wish.” 

"O-okay." He didn’t understand why Sam was being so nice to him, why he wasn’t  _beating_ him for misbehaving so many times. It didn’t make any sense.

Dean didn’t have much time to angst about it because then Sam was grasping onto his hips and lifting him gently up and down on his cock with his huge fucking hands, as if Dean weighed nothing. It made him feel so damned small, was one of the  _hottest_ things he’d ever experienced. Dean couldn’t do much more besides wrap his arms around Sam’s neck and cling for dear life. “Sam, oh fuck,  _Sam-_ ”

His Master laughed, not even the slightest bit out of breath. “Yes?” 

"I, I think I’m gonna come," he yelped. There was just  _so much_  of Sam inside him, pressing against what could only be his prostate and Jesus fucking Christ it should be embarrassing to need to come so fast from not much more than a dick in his ass, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Sam increased the pace, squeezing on Dean even tighter. Licked along Dean’s neck. “That’s fine, Dean. Come.” 

It was Sam saying his name that pushed him over the edge. 


End file.
